#give me earnest sincerity and a refusal to

[guardianlioness]

The core to every story that I love is sincerity.

[andromeda3116]

people actually went on about how game of thrones made it socially acceptable to be a fantasy nerd, as though the lord of the rings movies hadn't been released less than a decade earlier and left far greater cultural ripples and i am just

got may have made the adults feel better about liking fantasy, but lotr got into the kids' heads when they (we) were just young and impressionable enough to be absolutely transported and emotionally rewritten by don't you leave him, samwise gamgee and my brother, my captain, my king and and rohan will answer

lotr was rewriting entire generations' brain chemistry long before asoiaf and so obviously it's not fair to compare any post-lotr fantasy novel to it, and each book series was trying to do different things within their own spheres and so that also is not a fair comparison, but in terms of the cultural impact of the adaptations that came out within a decade of each other, saying that it was game of thrones that made fantasy mainstream is baffling

game of thrones could only run because the lord of the rings movies laid the path, and i will die on this hill

[secriden]

There's something so wondrously momentous about Style only saying his "I love you" now, when he realises that all the secrets he was keeping from Fadel are already laid bare.

He says this a significant time after Fadel has said his (and, in the context of the wider narrative, after Kant and Bison) and for the character we have seen as prone to glibness, exaggeration and flippancy with his words, that feels incredibly intentional.

Because this confession was the only truth Style had left to give.

Fadel is finally done playing his (poorly thought out) game, done with his (already cracking at the seams) charade, done with giving Style more opportunities to pull at his heartstrings with his earnestness lies.

Fadel is demanding the truth, and tells Style exactly what truth he wants to hear.

And the thing is, there is truth in this: Style's motivations at the start were wrapped up in a deception specifically targeting Fadel.

I know we, as a fandom, harp on about Style "doing all that for a car", but something I would like us all to revisit is what Kant actually says to Style when he first asks Style to "hit on" Fadel:

Kant: You need to help me. You know I don't usually feel this way about someone. And then shortly later, after Style refuses: Kant: Hey, hold on. (Kant grabs Style's hand.) What do I have to do to for you to help me out? Should I pay you?

(Please forgive my inability to gif and watch Style's reaction to this.) Style is visibly surprised and intrigued. Kant seems to be serious about this request, and I think Style decides to test just how important it is to Kant by asking for the one thing he knows Kant will not give up.

Just look the expressions on Style's face. We didn't have the context of knowing Style back then as well as we do now, but this is the look Style gets when he's throwing out a challenge (to Fadel), when he's trying to ferret out some new insight (from Fadel), when he wants to see how someone (Fadel) will react to whatever outlandish (provocative) thing he's said or done.

And when Kant agrees, Style even checks again if Kant is serious about going through with it -- and it's this that convinces Style of the sincerity of Kant's request.

Yes, the car was a factor, and yes Style also wanted revenge and to humble Fadel, but at the centre of Style's motivation has always been a plea for help from a friend.

In episode 1: Kant: Under one condition. You have to make him head over heels in love with you. Style: I'll do it. Not just for the car, but someone like him needs to be humbled by someone like me.

But in agreeing to help Kant, Style really was damning Fadel to play the fool because Fadel's feelings (his heart) was a commodity that Style was fully willing to play with back then.

And there are aspects of truth here too. When Kant tells Style about Fadel (and Bison) being hitmen, Style decides he's done and wants out. Kant reasons that it's more dangerous for Style to break up with Fadel now, because it would look suspicious, but crucially this isn't enough to convince Style.

So Kant, once again, makes the plea to friendship and to his need for Style specifically, and it is this that causes Style to finally cave.

But in doing so, the things that Style agrees to are:

Kant: Work with me. Help me get more information about them. Once we get that, it's done. Captain puts them in jail, and we walk free.

So while Style may not be directly working with the police, he is working with Kant who he knows is working with the police. By proxy, Style is involved with the police, but in front of the empty pool, he makes it clear to Fadel just what that involvement actually entailed:

Style: Kant asked me to take you out so you could leave him alone and he could freely investigate. Fadel: What did he get out of it? Style: I don't know! That ain't my business! All I was asked of is to take you out.

And this, too, actually is true! Since finding out, Style has literally not discovered a single thing that could be remotely useful to the police investigation:

He's found out that Fadel likes to gym at night. He's found out that Fadel uses tenderloin in his burgers. That he runs in the morning before going to the market. That he attends a grief support group.

But these were all things Kant also already knew and could have given the police if it were in any way useful for the investigation.

Even his attempts to get Fadel to confess to his "other job" (something the police also already know) were clearly in service of wanting to save Fadel and/or convince him to give up the life of crime in the hopes that Fadel wouldn't have to be sent away from Style to prison.

But the truths are tangled up in misunderstandings and Fadel's own assumptions now; and also further tainted again by Bison's own hurt over Kant's betrayal. And Fadel literally cannot see -- because his eyes are filled with tears [see: @thisautistic's gifset + my tags] (good grief, Joong, the actor you are) -- the honesty Style is bleeding from the marrow of his bones.

Because the truth is that along the way Style has also found out that Fadel is a good older brother. That Fadel is still hurting and bleeding inside because his parents were murdered. That Fadel wears his favourite bands' make up in secret because he cannot bear the thought of other's judgement. He's found out that Fadel misses Style, wants Style, and hates himself for it. That Fadel is afraid to love. That Fadel is acutely aware of his own darkness and cannot comprehend an existence that would not involve someone (Style) rejecting it. That Fadel does not believe that 100% trust is possible, but that he will get himself drunk so that he can offer Style as much vulnerability as he can physically make himself give.

Because the things that Style did find out were all the ways Fadel's heart is soft and tender and precious and worthy worthy worthy of all the love Style has to give.

And Style will stand firm on this truth because this is the only thing he has left to give Fadel.

Because Fadel knows, now, all the ways Style was unworthy of his trust, but crucially has not figured out the most important truth:

Because in all the ways that Fadel has ever known he should want, Style actually IS worthy of his trust. Style knows the truth Fadel is hiding, knows what this man is capable of, knows the danger of being in his arms, knows the likely nonexistent future Fadel has to offer him -- and wants him anyway. -- Quoted from my meta post on the "One day, I'll be your 100%" line.

And as I alluded to in the tags on @yinwaring's insightful post: Style fully embodies the belief he espouses; because even in the face of a gun to his head and Fadel threatening to kill him if he will not admit that this, too, is a lie, Style refuses to give Fadel anymore dishonesty.

And this is because Style knows that the truth matters; now more than ever.

Because Style has had days to grapple with his worry after Fadel's disappearance. Style has had a week's worth of checking the diner only to face the regret he feels about not handling things differently. Style has had to recognise the terror of thinking he had lost something he never even knew he wanted in the first place.

And while Fadel had his realisation back in episode 4, Style never had to face this until Fadel vanished from his life and left a gaping hole in the shape of the absence of Fadel's smile.

So if this is what it takes, if this is the penance that Fadel demands of him, then it is a price Style is most happy to pay.

Because Fadel does not realise is that Style, too, now knows what it means to lose a love worth fighting for.

And in the war Fadel now feels compelled to wage against Style (because, yes, that's definitely still going on), the one damning thing Fadel has failed to recognised is that his only true weapon was leaving Style behind.

Which is why Style has already won. Not because Fadel's walls have crumpled again or because they don't still have a ton of things to talk through and work out (they really, really do), but because Style has already been stripped bare (and I mean this literally, like we all recognise THAT was the reason why Dunk is only in boxer shorts in that scene, right?? Like, I know we were joking about it, but seriously, that was so very intentional and a visual representation of Style being both stripped and, most importantly, freed from the lies he felt compelled to tell Fadel) and this means he has nothing holding him back.

And Fadel can wield his gun and his words and his anger and his hurt, but Style will die on the hill of the truth that he knew and understood and chose to love Fadel anyway, and saved this last confession for when he knew he could tell Fadel the truth without any lingering deception; and when the time is right, when Fadel is finally ready, Style will be there to welcome him back with open arms and, without any hesitation, an open heart.

[a-hazbin-reader]

Can I request how Alastor would be when wifey was giving birth to any of the kids??

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Childbirth?

Description: 👆⬆️

When you go into labor, Alastor is probably in an overlord meeting or something when he gets the news

On the outside he's very calm, simply nodding and standing up while dusting himself off

"Ah, my most sincere apologies but I really must be going! Carmilla, your assistance would be deeply appreciated!"

Carmilla immediately gets the hint and ends the meeting early, Zestial and her daughters trailing behind her

Of course all the other overlords are curious af but Alastor doesn't give them the satisfaction of an answer

"Is it your pretty wife, radioman? She having the baby already?!"

Velvette is shoving her phone in his face and already opening up all her social media apps, Alastor simply walking around her

"Another time, my dear Velvette~"

In fact, he's all laid back smiles and effortless charm just like always, despite everyone else around him panicking

Charlie

"Charlie~ My dear, you must calm down! My wife is the strongest woman I know! She will be fine..!"

He instills confidence in everyone else around him until he's actually alone with you

Husk is the only one who sees through his facade but doesn't comment on it, simply sliding Alastor a single shot to knock back

He refuses to let anybody in that isn't strictly necessary, so Charlie is booted out, and Niffty has to be escorted out like five times

He tries to convince Zestial to leave, but at that point, he's much too focused on you

His grip on your hand is just as tight as your own and his smile is strained with worry, his usual air of confidence has now turned into quiet anxiety

Alastor's lips are nearly pressed against your temple as he whispers soft words of encouragement and apologies to you, rubbing your hip soothingly

If you're in a lot of pain or the birth is extremely traumatic for you then he'll feel guilty and give Lucifer a few dirty looks because it's partly his fault too

He is very soft and gentle with you throughout the entire labor process no matter how you treat him, he's only worried about you and the pain you're in

"This is all your fault! You did this to me!You terrible man!!"

"I know, darling... I'm sorry, please forgive me."

Once you've given birth then he's wiping sweat from your forehead and telling you how proud he is of you, cooing at you and trying to make you smile even though you're exhausted

"Even when you've been through such an ordeal, you're just as beautiful as ever, darling~"

Of course he's super interested in the baby too, checking them over and just watching you hold them with a lovesick expression

Your husband is also eager to hold his child, singing you to sleep while rocking the baby in his arms

He dotes on you and the baby, making sure every need is taken care of and crawling into bed to join the snuggles if you let him

He absolutely doesn't leave your side until you're practically begging him to give you space, and even then, he's reluctant to leave

"Darling, surely an hour is too long? Can't we shave it down to thirty minutes and I'll bring you back some jambalaya?"

He has the biggest, sweetest, most earnest look on his face. You almost forget he's a cold-blooded killer and a demonic overlord

"Make it forty minutes and bring me an extra pillow, please?"

"It's a deal~"

It's so sweet and domestic that it makes his teeth hurt, but he wouldn't trade it for the world

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

I’m on a plane rn, I’m bored and I’ve been having unholy thoughts about the short king~

Thinking about how he goes down on you with such enthusiasm, such vigor. Not forceful or wild, but filled with so much passion, like he craves your taste more than life itself. Over and over and over again, he brings you such sweet pleasure that it’s almost overwhelming. Almost. But the truth is, you can’t get enough of him, seeing him buried between your thighs makes your head fuzzy. This man relishes in giving you as many orgasms as physically possible. He won’t stop until you say so. The languid licks of his tongue up your drenched slit, his lips sucking on your sensitive clit, your walls clenching around his fingers as he thrusts them in and out of you relentlessly.

And don’t even get me started on the way he praises you. Telling you how much he loves tasting you, how delicious you are. Whispering sweet nothings into your skin, saying that he could stay there for eternity with complete and earnest sincerity. And how could you not believe him when he makes you feel this good? Getting you off is the only thing that matters to him, even at the cost of his own pleasure. You can tell when he starts to falter when he starts to grind his hips into the bedsheets below, like he has no more control over his own body. Even if you insist on taking care of him, he refuses. He begs you to let him pull just one more orgasm out of you, just one more.

[chaoticrockmusic]

Playin' Hearts

Synopsis; A playful game of pickpocketing with Gambit turns into a quiet evening of jazz, dancing, and stolen moments. As the teasing gives way to sincerity, you find the courage to make the first move, discovering that some risks are worth taking. Warnings; None kits! <3

You frowned as your hand brushed against something unfamiliar in your coat pocket. Fishing it out, you discovered a playing card—a queen of hearts—marked with a small, flourished "R" in the corner. You turned it over, puzzled, trying to figure out how it had gotten there.

“You dropped somethin’, chérie,” came a familiar, honeyed voice behind you.

Spinning around, you found Remy leaning casually against the doorframe, twirling another card between his fingers. That trademark smirk of his was firmly in place, a glint of mischief lighting his red-on-black eyes.

"Did I now?" you asked, holding up the card. "Care to explain how it ended up in my pocket?"

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Can’t blame me for wantin’ to stay close to you, non? Thought you might enjoy a lil’ reminder of me.”

Rolling your eyes, you stepped closer, card in hand. “You’re telling me you pickpocketed me just to leave… this?”

“Not just any card, chère.” He tapped the queen of hearts with his fingertip. “It’s got a meanin’. You’re sharp; I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

You couldn’t help the warmth rising to your cheeks, but you refused to let him win so easily. “If you’re so good at sneaking things into my pockets, guess I’ll have to start keeping them zipped.”

“Aw, now don’t do that,” he teased, his voice a low, velvety drawl. “Would make my job so much less fun.”

Shaking your head, you tried to hide your smile as you walked away, but his chuckle followed you down the hall. When you reached into your pocket later that day and found another card—a joker this time—you couldn’t help but laugh.

Gambit always had a way of leaving an impression.

Later that evening, you wandered into the common room to find Remy sitting on the couch, shuffling his deck of cards with practiced ease. He looked up as you entered, that perpetual smirk softening into something warmer when he saw you.

“Evenin’, chère,” he drawled, sliding the cards into a neat stack and setting them aside. “Come to accuse me of more mischief?”

You crossed your arms, pretending to consider. “Depends. Find anything else to slip into my pockets?”

He stood, hands raised in mock innocence. “Now why would I risk it? You’d catch me red-handed.”

“Maybe I’d let you off easy.” The words escaped before you could think twice, and the flicker of surprise in his expression sent your heart racing.

Remy stepped closer, his movements fluid and unhurried. “Careful, mon cœur. A man could take that as an invitation.”

You tilted your head, trying to keep your composure. “And what if it is?”

For a moment, the teasing glint in his eyes shifted to something deeper, more earnest. Without a word, he reached for the old radio on the shelf and turned the dial until soft jazz crackled through the room.

“Dance with me,” he said, holding out his hand.

Caught off guard, you hesitated. “I don’t—”

“Don’t matter if you can,” he interrupted gently, taking your hand in his. “Just follow my lead.”

Before you could argue, he pulled you close, one hand settling lightly on your waist while the other held your hand securely in his. The warmth of his touch and the way he swayed with effortless rhythm made it impossible not to relax.

The world seemed to shrink to just the two of you, moving together in the soft glow of the room. You found yourself smiling as his fingers gave yours a playful squeeze.

“You’re a natural, chère,” he murmured, his voice low and velvety.

Your eyes met his, and suddenly, the teasing facade he so often wore was gone, replaced by something vulnerable and inviting. Heart pounding, you gathered every ounce of courage you had and leaned up, brushing your lips against his.

For a moment, the world stilled. Then, his hand tightened gently at your waist, pulling you closer as he returned the kiss with a slow, deliberate passion that left you breathless.

When you finally pulled back, his lips curved into a grin that could only be described as triumphant. “Took you long enough,” he teased, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d make the first move,” you countered, your boldness surprising even yourself.

Remy chuckled, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “Chérie, if I’d known that, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time with cards.”

And with that, he spun you back into the dance, holding you close as the music played on

(GAMBIT CONTENT YAY!)

[doodle-pops]

˖ ࣪ .Giving Them The Silent Treatment˖ ࣪ .

Headcanon: Amras, Argon, Angrod, Egalmoth, Gil Galad

Synopsis: In which they attempt to end the silent torture via their skillful methods.

˚₊‧꒰ა Amras — 𝑯𝒆'𝒔 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕, 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒆��𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔. 𝑯𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓, 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒅𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐.

Amras walked softly into the room, glancing at you with a mixture of curiosity and concern. The silence between you was heavy, each of his attempts to break it met with your determined silence. “Are you still angry with me?” he asked gently, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You turned away, unable to meet his eyes, leading to him approaching, and sitting down beside you on the bed. The warmth of his presence was comforting, even though you still refused to speak.

“I know I’ve made mistakes,” he continued, reaching out to gently touch your hand. “But I want to make it right. Please, let me try.”

Reaching into his pocket, he produced a small, delicate flower, its petals a soft shade of blue. With a smile, he tucked it behind your ear, his fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. “You know,” he began, his voice laced with sincerity, “this flower reminds me of how I feel about you. It’s rare and beautiful, just like you.”

His eyes met yours, filled with an earnest hope. There was softness in his gaze and sincerity in his voice as they broke through your stubbornness. Turning to him, your eyes reflected a mixture of frustration and affection.

“Why do you have to be so charming?” you finally spoke, your voice softening.

Amras’s face broke into a relieved, affectionate smile. “Because I’m in love with you,” he said, leaning closer. “And I’d do anything to see you smile again.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling the warmth of his love melting away your stubbornness.

˚₊‧꒰ა Argon — 𝑨𝒕 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕, 𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒋𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒐, 𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔. 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒊𝒎.

His usually bright and cheerful demeanour dimmed with each moment of your silence. “Are you really not going to talk to me?” he asked, his voice tinged with desperation. You on the other hand, remained silent, your eyes focused on anything but him.

He pouted, his lips forming a perfect, sorrowful curve. “You know I hate it when you do this,” he whined, but you stood firm, arms crossed.

Trying everything he could think of to get your attention, he started by bringing you your favourite flowers and holding them out with an apologetic smile. And when you didn’t respond, he’d place them gently on the table next to you, hoping their fragrance would soften your irritation.

“Please, just talk to me,” he pleaded, his voice almost a whisper while you remained silent with your aching heart.

Next, he tried to make you laugh, performing exaggerated antics and telling jokes that usually had you in stitches. But today, you didn’t even crack a smile, urging his frustration to grow as he huffed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.

Finally, he resorted to his last tactic: sheer stubbornness. He followed you around, a constant presence, or rather, a pest, at your side, refusing to leave you alone. “I’ll stay right here until you talk to me,” he declared, his tone both petulant and determined.

You sighed inwardly. His persistence was endearing, and you knew you couldn’t hold out forever. With a soft smile, you turned to him and said, “You’re more annoying than you give yourself credit. You do know that?”

His face lit up with relief and joy. “Ah, you had finally spoken! I’m sorry,” he said quickly, wrapping his arms around you. “I promise I’ll do better. Just please, don’t ever stop talking to me again.”

“Fine then, I won’t ignore you,” you whispered. “However, because I’m still upset, no cuddling for a while.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Angrod — 𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒐𝒓, 𝒉𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒆𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏. 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔, 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎.

The silence between you and Angrod had stretched for days. You sat in the common room of your shared quarters, reading a book while deliberately ignoring his attempts to bridge the gap. Each time he approached, you responded with nothing more than a silent nod or a hum, your eyes never leaving the pages.

Angrod tried to mask his frustration, though his usual easygoing demeanour was slipping. He’d attempt small talk, casually asking about your day or mentioning something interesting he’d learned, but your responses remained minimal. It was clear he was struggling to decipher what had gone wrong.

But it wasn’t until you started sleeping on the sofa, leaving Angrod to his solitude in the bed, that the full weight of your silent treatment hit him. The normally calm and composed elf began to crumble. He’d mutter to himself as he walked through the room, bumping into furniture and huffing with annoyance like an insane person.

When you finally noticed him pacing and mumbling, it was clear that the silence, while intended to make him reflect, was also gnawing at him more than you’d anticipated.

Hence why the next morning, you woke to find Angrod asleep on the sofa beside you, his face creased with worry and exhaustion, making him appear like a wrinkly old man.

“Hey,” you said, your voice warmer than intended. Angrod blinked open his eyes, seeing you with a mixture of relief and lingering frustration.

“Are you finally tal—Yes, my love,” he answered, quickly, recollecting himself and rubbing his eyes to fully wake up before he said something out of turn.

You nodded, your heart softening as you took his hand. “Yes, I’m finally awake and ready to talk, but let’s have breakfast first. You’re cooking though, so don’t burn anything.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Egalmoth — 𝑻𝒘𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒈𝒐, 𝒆𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏. 𝑯𝒆 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒚. 𝑯𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒈𝒐 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒉𝒊𝒎.

Egalmoth paced the length of the garden, his usual composed demeanour replaced by visible frustration. You sat on a stone bench, steadfastly ignoring him, your gaze fixed on the blooming roses. It had been three days since you’d last spoken to him, and he was growing increasingly desperate.

“Will you please talk to me, my love,” he said, his voice a mix of irritation and pleading. “The silence is too loud.”

Giving no indication that you heard him, maintaining your silence, Egalmoth sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “I’d rather you punish me any other way than this silent treatment,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to hear.

His words hung in the air, but you remained calm which caused him to huff in frustration and storm off, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Minutes later, the sound of a clatter reached your ears, and you glanced over to see Egalmoth sprawled on the ground with a nearby ladder and several fallen books scattered around him.

“Curse this clumsiness,” he groaned, holding his ankle. Your heart clenched, but you forced yourself to remain seated.

Egalmoth’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flash of genuine pain—not just from his injury, but from your silence. He had gone out of his way to create a situation where you had no choice but to speak with him, even if it meant injuring himself.

You stood up, your stubbornness wavering. As you approached, he winced, clearly in discomfort. “Are you alright?” you finally asked, unable to maintain your silent treatment any longer.

Relief washed over his face despite his pain. “I will be, now that you’re talking to me,” he said, his voice softer. “I’ve missed your voice more than you know.”

You sighed, kneeling beside him to assess his injury. “You’re impossible,” you murmured, but there was no anger in your tone—only a reluctant affection.

Egalmoth smiled, reaching out to gently touch your hand. “And you’re everything to me,” he replied, his eyes filled with love. “Never leave me in silence again.”

You nodded, helping him to his feet. “Just don’t hurt yourself next time,” you said, your voice laced with a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

“I’ll try,” he promised, leaning on you for support. “But only if you promise to talk to me.”

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head. “Deal.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Gil Galad — 𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒉𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓, 𝒊𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈, 𝒉𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒑𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒅𝒅 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒍𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒔𝒐 𝒉𝒆'𝒍𝒍 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.

Gil-galad found you in the garden, the serene beauty of the flowering landscape contrasting with the cold silence you were giving him. For days, you had been distant, offering only curt nods and avoiding eye contact. He respected your space, but it was beginning to wear on him. He approached cautiously, his expression a mix of concern and gentle resolve.

“Is there an limit on words, or have I simply been unlucky in conversation?” he asked, attempting a lighthearted tone. He knelt beside you, his gaze searching your face for any sign of the warmth that once was there.

You remained silent, focused on the vibrant petals of a nearby flower. Gil-galad sighed, sitting down beside you. “If this is some form of punishment, I must say, I’m terribly uninitiated,” he continued, his voice softening. “But I’d very much like to understand what’s troubling you, or at least, share a smile.”

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle and reassuring. “Tell me what I’ve done wrong. Even a King can be humbled by the silence of someone he holds dear.”

The sincerity in his voice finally broke through, bringing your eyes to meet his, and your vexation melting away gently.

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @aconstructofamind @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @ladyenchanted @addaigio @lamemaster @hermaeuswhora @elficially-done-with-life @eunoiaastralwings

If you want to be tagged, click on the Taglist Link to join.

[brainddeadd]

Heart on My Sleeve

i listened to illusion by one direction and this happened

You stood in the corner of the room, your eyes fixed on Jack as he laughed with his friends. There was something magnetic about him—there always had been. His charm, his effortless smile, the way he moved through life like it was all one big joke that only he was in on. But that’s what scared you the most.

You'd heard the rumors. Everyone had. Jack Hughes, the NHL’s golden boy with the playboy reputation to match. It seemed like every time you scrolled through your phone, there was some new story about him being seen with another girl. And yet, here he was, staring at you from across the room like you were the only one that mattered.

But how could you trust him?

“Hey,” his voice broke through your thoughts. You hadn’t even realized he’d crossed the room. “Can we talk?”

You hesitated, unsure if you wanted to hear whatever smooth line he had prepared. But before you could refuse, Jack leaned in closer, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it.

“No, baby, this is not an illusion,” he said quietly, his voice sincere. “I’ve really got my heart out on my sleeve here. You don’t have to believe the stories. I just… I need you to believe me.”

Your heart ached at his words, torn between wanting to believe him and the fear that came with it. “Jack, I don’t know… I don’t want to get hurt.”

“I get it,” he nodded, taking a step back, giving you space. “I know I haven’t made it easy to trust me, but I’m not playing games with you. I don’t care about anyone else. Just you.”

You stared at him, searching for any hint of insincerity, but all you saw was a boy who was trying. His eyes were soft, filled with an emotion you hadn’t expected from him.

Jack reached for your hand, holding it gently. “I’m not perfect, but I want to be better. For you. And I know I’ve messed up before, but I’m asking for a chance to prove to you that I’m serious.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart racing as you felt the weight of his words. Was it really possible that Jack Hughes—the Jack Hughes—was being genuine? That he could change for you?

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, comforting and steady. “I’m not asking you to trust me right away,” Jack said, his voice low and earnest. “Just… give me a chance to show you who I really am. Not the rumors, not the headlines—just me.”

The vulnerability in his eyes tugged at something deep inside of you. Maybe he wasn’t the playboy everyone made him out to be. Maybe, just maybe, he was someone worth taking a chance on.

You took a deep breath, and with it, a leap of faith. “Okay, Jack. I’ll give you a chance.”

His face broke into a smile—genuine and full of relief. He squeezed your hand, his eyes never leaving yours. “I won’t let you down.”

~~

The night was quiet, the soft hum of the city outside barely reaching the cozy confines of your apartment. The two of you had spent the evening watching movies, but now, as the credits rolled on the screen, it was just you and Jack sitting together, bathed in the warm glow of the lamplight. You hadn’t spoken much since you agreed to give him a chance, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was almost soothing.

Jack shifted beside you, turning to face you fully, his expression softer than usual. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, his voice low, “about us.”

You raised an eyebrow, your heart skipping a beat. “What about us?”

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, something he did when he was nervous. “I’ve had a lot of people in my life, but it’s always felt… temporary. Like they didn’t see me—really see me. But with you, it’s different. You make me feel like I don’t have to pretend to be anyone else.”

His words tugged at your heart, and you felt that familiar wave of fear. Jack had always been smooth, but this felt different—more real, more raw.

“Jack…” you started, but he cut you off, his hand gently resting on your cheek.

“I know you’re scared,” he whispered, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “I know my reputation isn’t great, but I don’t care about any of that. I just want to be with you.”

The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the world—made your heart race. You leaned into his touch, your eyes locking with his, and for a moment, you felt the walls around your heart begin to crumble.

“I’m scared because you could hurt me,” you admitted softly, your voice barely audible. “But I want to believe you.”

Jack’s hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m not going to hurt you. Not ever.”

Before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours, soft but full of intent. The kiss was slow, deliberate, as if he was trying to show you everything he couldn’t put into words. It wasn’t rushed or heated—just intimate. Like it was just you and him, and nothing else in the world mattered.

When you pulled back, your foreheads rested together, both of you catching your breath. His thumb still traced slow circles on the back of your neck, his touch grounding you in the moment.

“I’m all in,” Jack whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. “Whatever this is, whatever we can be—I’m all in.”

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be real. That Jack wasn’t playing games, and neither were you. You were both laying everything out, raw and open, in this quiet, private moment.

“I’m all in, too,” you whispered back, the words feeling like a promise.

Jack smiled, a soft, genuine smile, and leaned in to kiss you again, this time slower, deeper, as if sealing the vow you’d both just made. In the quiet of that moment, you felt your heart open just a little bit more, trusting that maybe, with Jack, you were safe.

[hivemuthur]

What was that? - Ch. 8.

viktorxfemale!OFC mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes

friends to lovers, co-workers, sexual tension up to the wazoo, pinning and banter that got me frustrated when I was writing it, attempt at humour, some angst and a slow burn with a happy ending and a classic Viktor for once

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12. | Ch.13. | Ch.14. | Ch.15.

word count: 4,6K

tag: #what was that

summary: More banter and slight angst! Jayce speaks French, and we are about to even out with AO3 which means I will post chapter 10 in two days :)

author’s note: Beta reader: @rennethen

Cross-posted on AO3

—

A week had passed since their trip to the Undercity, though the memory of their near-moment lingered like a stubborn ember refusing to die out. Viktor had kept his distance, returning to his meticulous work, while Renly buried herself in testing the formula. She really wanted to make it before the gala on upcoming weekend. The tension between them was not sharp or angry but... unresolved. Words left unsaid.

Now, as she stood at the threshold of his workspace, cradling the first viable test sample in her hands, that tension seemed to knot her throat. She tapped softly on the metal frame of the door, and Viktor turned, his golden eyes catching hers.

“Viktor,” she began, her voice betraying her nerves, “I—um—I wanted to show you something.”

He set aside the intricate mechanism he’d been tinkering with and gave her his full attention. “What is it?”

Renly crossed the room slowly, holding the small vial out like an offering. “The cure… or at least, the first viable iteration of it. It’s ready for testing.”

Viktor’s gaze dropped to the vial in her hands. His expression, as always, was difficult to read, but there was a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe even hope. She couldn’t be sure.

“I thought,” Renly continued hesitantly, “that you might—well, you might want to try it. But only if you’re comfortable. I don’t want you to feel like…” She trailed off, suddenly aware of how heavy the moment felt. “Like I’m treating you as some sort of… experiment.”

Viktor took the vial from her with gentle hands, his fingers brushing against hers for a fraction of a second. “You would never,” he said softly, his voice carrying a certainty that made her stomach flip. He studied the vial, the pale, faintly glowing liquid catching the light.

Renly twisted her hands nervously. “I just... I know how much you’ve already risked, and I don’t want you to feel like I’m—”

“Renly,” he interrupted, looking up at her. His eyes, earnest and steady, caught hers and held them. “You are not asking anything I would not willingly give.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The words he’d just said hung between them, weighted with layers of meaning that neither dared unpack.

“You trust me that much?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

Viktor’s lips curved into a faint smile, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly higher than the other. “More than you realize.”

Her chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice. She wanted to respond, to say something meaningful, but her thoughts tangled together. Instead, she nodded, and handed him a small parchment with dosage instructions, her own tentative smile matching his.

Viktor glanced back at the vial, his expression turning contemplative. “If this works,” he murmured, half to himself, “you will have done something remarkable—not just for me, but for all of Zaun. I hope you see that.”

His words sank in, and for the first time, she felt the enormity of what she was trying to accomplish—the weight of all those counting on her, including Viktor himself.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she said, attempting a lightness she didn’t quite feel. “It’s only the first trial.”

“Even so,” Viktor replied, his gaze lifting back to hers, “it is a step forward. And for that, I am grateful.”

With that, Viktor pocketed the vial, his movements deliberate, his expression unreadable once more. The moment stretched on before he turned back to his desk. “I will let you know how it goes.”

Renly hesitated for a moment longer, wanting to say something—anything—that might ease the invisible wall that had risen between them since that night in the Undercity. But in the end, she simply nodded and slipped out of the room, her heart heavy with things left unsaid.

***

The grand day had finally arrived. Viktor and Jayce were rehearsing their presentations for the fundraising gala. They knew their work inside and out—every discovery with Hextech had been thoroughly tested and meticulously documented. The primary focus of their practice speeches, however, was to ensure that Piltover's wealthy elite would view their innovations as they did: a beacon of life-changing progress, meant to be harnessed for peaceful purposes.

“She’s late,” Jayce muttered, glancing at the clock. “Renly’s never late. What if she bailed on us?”

Viktor didn’t look up from his notes. “She would not do that. Perhaps she is simply… taking her time.”

Jayce opened his mouth to argue, but the creak of the lab door froze him mid-step. Both men turned toward the sound.

Renly stepped inside, and for a moment, time seemed to pause. Her heels clicked softly against the tiled floor, their sharp rhythm underscoring the quiet hum of the lab’s machines. But it wasn’t just her entrance that demanded attention—it was everything else.

Gone was the practicality of her work attire, the reliable fabrics stained by chemicals and the scuffs from long hours. In their place was a dress—blood red, sleek, and elegant, a daring statement of confidence and boldness that seemed to make the very air around her shimmer. It hugged her frame tastefully, the neckline hinting at daring but never straying into excess. A delicate silver chain rested against her collarbone, the simple accessory accentuating her sharp features. Her hair was swept back, leaving her face unobscured, framed by the glow of polished poise.

“Sorry I’m late,” Renly said, her voice casual as she set her bag down. “Had to find something that wasn’t covered in stains.”

Viktor stared. His brain, so capable in the realm of logic and science, utterly failed him now. Words tangled in his throat like frayed wires, and after a pause that seemed eternal, he finally managed to stammer, “You look… astonishing.”

The word lingered, weightier than intended. Jayce stopped pacing, eyebrows lifting in shock, his head snapping toward Viktor as if to confirm he’d heard correctly. Viktor stiffened almost immediately, his grip tightening on the cane as he realized what he’d said aloud. He cleared his throat, looking away in a feeble attempt to recover.

Renly, however, didn’t miss a beat. Amusement flickered in her eyes as a slow smile curved her lips. She tilted her head, her tone playful but warm as she responded, “Thank you, Viktor.” A slight pause, and then, with the faintest edge of mischief, “I could say the same about you, but I’m not sure ‘astonishing’ is the right word for a man who insists on wearing a cravat to every occasion.”

Jayce burst into laughter, loud and sudden, while Viktor shot him a withering sidelong glare. His discomfort deepened as Renly took a step closer, her grin widening.

“But it suits you,” she added, her voice softening but still teasing. Her eyes locked on his, glimmering with an energy he didn’t quite know how to place. “Distinguished, refined… and maybe just a little bit pretentious.”

Jayce leaned against the counter, practically doubled over from laughing. Viktor’s composure frayed further, his ears burning crimson at the edges. “I am glad my wardrobe provides such endless entertainment,” he muttered, his voice dry but noticeably tight.

Renly chuckled, the sound light and unbothered. “Alright, boys, let’s get these speeches sorted. I didn’t put on this dress just to make fun of Viktor.” Her gaze lingered on him for half a second longer than necessary before she added, with a smirk, “Though that is a very nice bonus.”

Jayce continued to snicker, but Viktor barely noticed. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus on the notes in his hand even as his thoughts refused to follow suit. Renly moved toward the blackboard, her heels clicking against the floor like punctuation marks, commanding attention with every step.

For a fleeting moment, Viktor allowed himself to watch her, unguarded, unrestrained. His equilibrium, so carefully maintained in all other matters, was noticeably absent. But despite the flustered edges of his thoughts, one truth remained clear: whatever chaos Renly brought, he didn’t mind.

“I have to be honest with you guys—I am scared shitless,” Renly said, turning on her heel. She spoke more to the room than to her friends.

“What…? Why?” Jayce snorted at her blunt statement. “You’ve got this. Besides, Renly, you’re the only one of us who has fresh presentation practice. You teach students all the time!”

“I know, I know,” she said with a sigh, running a hand through her hair. “But with the students, I know I’m talking to people who at least try to understand what I’m explaining.” She paused, her tone carrying a hint of exasperation. “Here, we’re presenting to people who might not have the slightest clue about the science—and on top of that, we have to… balance it,” she mused, pacing back and forth in front of the blackboard.

Viktor’s lips curled into a smirk as he watched her pace, her earlier worry still etched on her face. He decided to step in—not just to own his earlier compliment, but also to draw her focus away from her nerves. “I doubt the poor boy Ezra would survive if you showed up to teach class in this dress,” he remarked, his tone light but teasing.

Renly blinked, caught off guard for a moment before her wit kicked in. “And here I was, thinking it was you who’d be his doom if he ever came near me again.”

Viktor tilted his head slightly, his smile widening as though conceding the point. “I think if you simply be yourself tonight, no one will dare to refuse you funding—or misplace your work—for fear of being eviscerated by your words,” he said, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes.

Jayce glanced at the clock and clapped his hands together. “Alright, folks, time to go! Vite, vite!”

Renly grabbed her coat and, as they headed out the door, leaned in just close enough to whisper to Viktor, “By the way, I actually think you look very nice tonight too.”

***

She was right—it was absolutely terrifying. Bright lights, the constant hum of voices and laughter, the clinking of cutlery, the swell of music, and the shuffle of footsteps all blended into one overwhelming cacophony, crashing over Renly’s senses in unrelenting waves. Strangers brushed past her, their hands grazing her bare shoulders or the small of her back as they squeezed through the crowded room. The invasion of personal space only heightened her unease.

This was nothing like her classes. Her students were quiet and predictable in comparison—tame, even. But this… this was—

“You look pale.”

Viktor’s low voice cut through the din, and she felt his presence behind her before she saw him. He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear, carrying the faint, teasing scent of champagne. The unexpected intimacy of it made her shiver.

“Are you alright?”

“Totally,” she lied, her fingers fidgeting in front of her in a telltale gesture of discomfort.

“I know that ‘totally.’ It is no good,” Viktor said softly, concern shadowing his expression. Gently, he turned her to face him, his hand brushing against hers. “What do you need?”

“Quiet. And, um… a drink, maybe?” Renly raised an eyebrow, half-joking, as if gauging whether Viktor would judge her for indulging in a little liquid courage before the important presentation. “If you don’t think it would be… improper.”

Viktor didn’t hesitate. “Come.” He offered his hand, his tone gentle yet firm.

Renly took it without thinking, letting herself be guided toward the balcony. As they passed a waiter, Viktor paused and gestured toward the tray of champagne flutes. “Will you manage two? My hands are a little… busy,” he said, his smile playful as he raised their intertwined palms toward the view. Of course, the cane. She forgot briefly.

The crisp air of the evening was like a balm, soothing her stressed body with its cool touch. As they stepped out onto the balcony, the noise of the gala dimmed, and Renly found herself breathing more easily, the weight of the chaos inside melting away. She leaned against the railing, letting the quiet settle around her like a protective shield.

Viktor, ever observant, stood beside her for a moment, watching her with a soft intensity. “I know that feeling,” he said quietly. “The world getting too loud, the weight of the eyes on you. If you need some grounding, or maybe just a pep talk before you face the stage…” He trailed off, waiting for her response.

Renly glanced at him, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the tension still coiling in her stomach. “What do you have in mind?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity mingling with her unease.

Viktor moved closer, propping his cane carefully against the railing. He turned to face her fully, and for a moment, all the noise of the event seemed to fade into the background. His hands landed gently on her shoulders, steadying her. His touch was firm but not controlling, a reminder of his quiet strength, and when his eyes met hers, she saw something rare there—genuine care, but also something deeper.

“You go up on that stage,” Viktor said, his voice low and steady, the words almost like a command. “It’s quiet, there is only you. All those people, they should be scared of you, not you of them. What you are capable of. How wise you are. How strong.”

Renly’s breath caught in her throat as she absorbed his words. His gaze held her, unwavering, as though he were willing her to believe in her own power. She felt the words sink deep, quieting the storm of nerves that had been brewing inside her.

“And now,” he continued, his voice softer but still firm, “drink.”

Renly’s fingers tightened around the champagne flute, her eyes lingering on his face as the brief moment stretched out between them. The warmth of his presence, his steadying touch, and the sheer simplicity of his confidence seemed to wash over her. She took a deep breath, the knot in her chest loosening as she sipped from her glass, the cool liquid running smoothly down her throat.

In that moment, on the balcony under the dim light of the stars, it felt as though the world had narrowed down to just the two of them. The gala, the people, the expectations—everything faded away, leaving only Viktor and his quiet strength. There was no pressure, no judgment, just a calm understanding between them.

Renly let herself relax, letting Viktor’s presence anchor her. She wasn’t alone in this. She had her work. She had her mind. And, in a way she hadn’t fully realized until now, she had Viktor. She gave him a small, grateful smile, the tension in her shoulders melting further as she felt his steady gaze on her.

“Alright,” she murmured, setting the glass down. “I’m ready.”

Viktor’s lips twitched into a smile, though it was subtle. He gave her shoulders a final squeeze, his hands slipping away. “You’ve always been ready.”

***

Renly’s heart still fluttered as the echoes of applause faded away, the weight of the speech finally lifting from her shoulders. The donors had been impressed, their pledges securing two years of funding for her research—a small victory in the grander scheme, but one that felt monumental to her. She spotted Viktor in the crowd as she finished, his gaze steady and approving, but when the applause died down and the crowd shifted, he was nowhere to be found. She felt an odd pang of disappointment, but quickly shook it off, knowing he’d likely retreated to avoid the attention she was receiving.

She was about to step off the stage when Jayce appeared, grinning broadly. “Renly! You did it! I told you, you’d kill it up there.” His voice was warm with pride, and he clapped her on the back before pulling her into a tight hug. Renly laughed, a little breathless.

“You weren’t wrong,” she admitted. “Though I’m sure you just wanted me to do well for the sake of your own ego. You did help me practice a lot.”

“Of course, it was for you,” Jayce teased, “but mostly because now I can say I knew you when you became a star.” His grin grew wider as Mel Medarda approached with her usual effortless elegance.

Renly’s eyes lit up when she saw her. “Mel, you look absolutely beautiful as usual.” The words slipped out naturally, and there was an affectionate tone in her voice. The inside joke between them—how Mel Medarda, despite whatever else might happen, was always beautiful—never grew old.

Mel gave her a teasing glance. “Thank you, Renly,” she said, “though you’re not too bad yourself.” She shot a sideways glance at Jayce, who was still laughing at Renly’s comment. “It’s good to see you so relaxed. You seemed like a completely different person up there. Confident. Powerful.”

“I don’t think I could’ve done it without Viktor,” Renly replied, before realizing how much that might imply. She quickly added, “You know, his advice. He’s always been the calm in the chaos. You’ve probably noticed.”

Mel raised an eyebrow, but before she could comment, a few other guests approached, eager to congratulate Renly. She graciously accepted their compliments on her work, her mind drifting slightly as more drinks were brought her way. The weight of the evening started to feel more like a pleasant haze as the alcohol began to take effect, loosening her up a little. She could feel herself getting a little warmer, the buzz of the evening mixing with the buzz from the champagne.

When the conversation began to dwindle and the crowd dispersed, Renly found herself slipping back out onto the balcony, craving the quiet again. The cool air welcomed her, and she leaned against the railing, taking a long breath to steady herself. It was then that she heard Viktor’s soft footsteps approaching behind her.

“Thought I might find you here,” he said quietly, standing beside her. He had a glass in his hand, but it seemed he’d had much less to drink than she had. Still, the slight edge of warmth in her words betrayed the effect the alcohol was having on her.

“I’m glad you came,” Renly said, her words a little more slurred than she intended. “I thought you disappeared on me.”

“I’m never far, Renly,” Viktor replied, his voice steady, though his gaze softened as he studied her. “How are you feeling? Your speech was brilliant. I have no idea how you can be so brilliant, but I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me.”

Renly smiled, though her cheeks flushed slightly from the compliment. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” she murmured, her voice dipping into something more sincere. She turned toward him slightly, her words flowing faster than she meant. “You’ve always been the one who steadies me. The one who helps me see things clearly, even when the world’s too loud. I—I wouldn’t be here without your guidance. Your strength. It’s—”

Her words faltered, and she suddenly caught herself. She was bordering on saying too much, on revealing something she wasn’t ready to say. The vulnerability felt too raw. She blinked, clearing her throat, trying to regain some composure.

“Dance with me?” she said suddenly, her voice less steady now but still filled with something unspoken.

Viktor blinked, caught off guard by her request. “I... I don’t dance,” his voice quiet as he fixed his eyes on the floor, shifting uncomfortably.

“I don’t know what else to call what you’ve been doing around me those last couple of months,” she blurted out before she could stop, earning herself a concerned smile from him.

Viktor’s breath hitched, the weight of her words settling on him, both unexpected and revealing. He had hoped his attention to her, the fleeting moments between them, had gone unnoticed. But here she was, calling it out, putting words to the tension that had been building between them. He quickly glanced away, feeling the heat of her gaze lingering, but he couldn’t shake the unease that crept in. He didn't know how to navigate this space they were now in.

“I could offer my assistance in walking you home. It was a long evening,” Viktor said, his voice taking on a more neutral tone as he ignored her comment, though the sting of it lingered. She had noticed. All of those brief, charged exchanges between them.

But now—now she seemed to be asking for something more. And that, more than anything, left him unsure.

Renly saw the hesitation in his eyes, and she felt a familiar knot form in her stomach. She had never been good at reading the signs, but she couldn’t ignore the way Viktor had looked at her, the way he’d touched her, the quiet moments that seemed to speak volumes. It all seemed to point to something, didn’t it? Yet here he was, avoiding it.

“I didn’t mean to...” she trailed off, suddenly unsure of herself. “I’m not asking for anything. I just thought... Maybe I misread things.” Her voice softened, the alcohol having loosened her tongue and her thoughts. “But if that’s not what you want, it’s okay. I’m just...” She paused, biting her lip as she tried to steady herself.

Viktor let the silence hang between them for a moment, his hand resting gently at her waist. He could feel the weight of her uncertainty, but it mirrored his own. He had become used to playing the steady, composed part of the equation, but tonight, that seemed harder than ever. He wanted to reassure her, to say something that would ease the tension, but his mind was clouded, and he didn’t quite know what to say.

Instead, he took a step closer, his hand slightly tightening around her waist. “You’ve had quite the night, Renly,” he said quietly. “I can see it in your eyes. But if you need to talk about any of this… I will listen.”

Renly met his gaze, her eyes soft and searching, but it was clear she was still a little lost in her own thoughts. She sighed and, without thinking, rested her forehead against his chest. She felt a small sense of comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her.

“I don’t know how to be around you anymore, Viktor,” she murmured, her voice almost too soft to hear. “But maybe I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel it. Whatever this is between us.”

Viktor’s throat tightened as he looked down at her, his own feelings echoing hers. He had always been a master of keeping his emotions in check, but there was something about Renly that disarmed him. Something about her presence, the way she made him feel both grounded and entirely lost at the same time.

His greatest fear still stood unshaken, though: the fear of anyone, of her, seeing how incomplete he was, how damaged. He did feel slightly better since he started taking her formula, but it was too early to tell. Still, this would only solve one of his problems. Admittedly, that problem was imminent death, but the liability of his spine, of his leg, would remain with him forever. He never allowed anyone to stay with him on this journey for longer than a flicker of time—fleeting affairs, singular events, neither forgotten nor remembered in much detail. He feared dependency. His entire body feared her and screamed for her at the same time.

“I’m not pretending,” he whispered, his voice low, the words coming more easily now that they were alone in the quiet of the night. He paused, as if searching for the right words. “But sometimes it’s easier to stay silent than to risk... changing things.”

Renly pulled back just slightly, lifting her head to meet his eyes, and in that moment, she saw the vulnerability in his gaze, the uncertainty that had always been there but that he kept hidden so well.

“I don’t want to change things,” she said quietly, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I just want to know if you feel it too.”

The question hung between them, and for the first time that evening, Viktor didn’t have the answer ready. The words came from the part of him that was strongest—the one that was protecting him from himself. “I don’t have an answer, Renly. But I think… maybe we should get back to this when we are both… rested.” He really wanted to avoid using the word ‘drunk.’ He felt her face wrinkle on his chest as she turned away, trying to hide her expression.

“Yes, that’s fair. I’ll get home by myself just fine,” Renly threw over her shoulder, her voice straining.

“Are you—” Before Viktor could finish his question, she cut him off. “Please. I’ll see you on Monday.”

[love-and-deepspace-fanfic]

Sign of Good Luck - Blooming Jasmine

Another #delulu to welcome Zayne's newest myth!

Hope you've been enjoying all my delulus so far ^^

You met Zayne in the destined mountain.....

Sign of Good Luck - Blooming Jasmine

In a dense forest on the peak of Mount Shen, located east of the village of Shen Kong, there stands a temple said to be the dwelling of a deity known for foreseeing destinies and maintaining the balance of all things, much like the tales of reincarnation and transmigration you had read about in ancient stories. If you recall correctly from your readings, this deity was named Si Ming Xian Jun—the Lord of Fate, a god renowned for his icy gaze and unwavering demeanor, regardless of the chaos around him.

A deity free from desires, for in his eyes, nothing mattered more than sustaining the balance and mysteries of the world.

The mere thought of encountering this deity to plead for something so unusual made you hesitate. You knew your intentions were impure and feared that if the deity perceived your calculative nature, he would despise you and refuse your plea. Yet, for the sake of your parents, and yourself, you had to seize this chance, knowing your time was running out.

You were an orphan taken in by a couple who gave you a life when they found you wandering in the forest as a child. They never spoke of your past, as you could not remember where you came from. You only knew this was your home, a place you had longed for. Happiness, however, was fleeting; as you grew, your health deteriorated. Despite their efforts, your condition worsened. Then, one day, a mysterious figure offered a cure on the condition that you travel east to find the legendary Si Ming Xian Jun and become his disciple. In desperation, you accepted.

Defying your parents' objections, you embarked on your journey. Miraculously, the remedy given by the mysterious figure took immediate effect, revitalizing you. This newfound strength spurred you on your path to the east.

Crossing mountains and forests, you finally reached the village at the mountain's foot. The villagers were astonished at your quest but kindly directed you to a small cottage, once home to a benefactor who had helped the village. The cottage, though cold, felt warm and welcoming.

Having prepared yourself, you ventured into the forest. Following the book's guidance, you knew the deity never abandoned those lost in his domain, especially those in need. Lost in thought, you found yourself deeper in the woods, enveloped by a fog that sapped your strength, leading you to collapse, surrendering to fate.

As if destined, a dark figure approached, exuding the soothing breath of spring mixed with winter's chill, cradling you into slumber.

*******************************************************************

The chime of wind bells woke you. A strange ceiling, a soft bed, and an unfamiliar scent.

“You’re awake?”

A deep, gentle voice accompanied the breeze, brushing your hair and tickling your ears. Recognizing your situation and the presence before you, you attempted to kneel in supplication, only to be restrained by a firm hand.

“I do not accept obeisance without knowing your name and identity. Speak, who are you?”

The commanding warmth in the voice left you fumbling for words.

“A… humble maiden… here to seek Si Ming Xian Jun.”

Receiving no response, you gathered courage, your voice growing bolder.

“Please, Xian Jun, help this humble maiden… I have but one request.”

Drawing a deep breath, you summoned your courage.

“Allow me to become your disciple!”

You bowed deeply, placing your hands on your knees in a gesture of earnest supplication. Silence ensued, the only sound being the rustling of leaves.

Time seemed to stretch as you maintained your pose, hoping your sincerity would touch the deity. Just as you thought you might give up, a resigned sigh broke the silence.

“Very well, but first, tell me your name.”

Overjoyed, you looked up, forgetting decorum in your excitement, and recited what the mysterious figure had instructed.

“I am an orphan, taken in by my adoptive parents in a distant village at the foot of the western mountains. Because of our poverty, I left to seek my fortune, hoping not to burden them. But on my journey, I realized I had no skills and relied on a fortune teller’s words that I possess immortal essence, capable of becoming an immortal. Hence, I sought you out, praised for your wisdom and virtue, hoping for a chance…”

Though some words were rehearsed, your plea was genuine, and you struggled to hold back tears.

As you rambled, the deity extended a hand.

“Give me your hand.”

Without hesitation, you complied, feeling the deity's gentle sigh.

“Someone as naïve as you, how do you survive in this world of deceit?”

You didn’t understand his words fully but felt compelled to trust him despite your doubts about the mysterious figure. Trusting the deity felt right.

He lightly held your hand, channeling a stream of energy through you, refreshing your entire being.

“Your energy is stable, no harm done.”

He began to leave, but you clutched his sleeve, almost causing him to fall onto you.

“But Xian Jun, you haven’t answered my plea…”

Meeting his amber gaze, you realized the deity's striking beauty, making you stare in awe until a soft cough snapped you out of it.

“Reckless, how can you be so disrespectful to your master?”

Before you could process his words, a clean set of clothes appeared before you.

“Do not disgrace your master with your attire. People might think I cannot support you.”

A warmth spread through you, making you tear up as you instinctively reached out to him.

“Thank you, Xian Jun… thank you.”

Ignoring formalities, you saw him as your savior. His stiff arm slowly patted your shoulder in a gentle, comforting gesture.

“I hope you will learn much from this master.”

********************************************************************

“Master! Master! Your disciple is here!”

Your voice echoed through the forest. A hand paused over a guqin, looking towards the approaching figure, now resembling a young immortal.

“Good, you’ve arrived. What about the book…”

You pouted.

“Master, must I continue copying texts? It’s been three months of nothing but copying. Isn’t it enough to learn and practice the circulation of spiritual energy?”

“I’ve told you, understanding the principles and operations of all things is essential before using any technique or power.”

He gently guided a fallen bird to the ground with a breeze.

“Everything has a balance. You can borrow nature’s force to maintain harmony, but reckless actions disrupt this balance, resulting in backlash.”

You pondered the fallen bird and asked,

“If you hadn’t helped, it would have died. Could you revive it?”

His cold response pierced through your heart.

“Life and death are part of the cycle. Altering fate is forbidden. Best not to dwell on it.”

He stood, heading towards the pavilion where you often studied. Noticing your silence, he added,

“Flowers bloom and wither; that is the cycle of life. Would you want them to always bloom or always wither?”

Your heart lightened, you smiled warmly.

“I may not fully understand, but whether blooming or withering, I just want to see them with you.”

His composure wavered momentarily before he replied,

“Am I not here with you now?”

He resumed walking but added a final remark that made you hurry after him with a bright smile.

“Autumn is near; if you wish to see, only withered flowers are left.”

[all-pacas]

You don’t seem to like Cameron very much either tbh it took me a while to realize you did (I don’t like her much but I also just never talk abt her). Like when Cameron treated House like you said in the disability post I thought it was nice because she is the only one who treats his disability seriously while everyone just assumed he’s faking it, but now I’m thinking yup she is kind of ableist 😬

I never stop talking about her! Of course I like her, lol

I like her a lot, but it’s true I’m sort of contrary and I dislike it when people overly smooth people out. I actually enjoy her myriad flaws, I think they make her more interesting. Like to continue the ableist thread, that’s an interesting character beat, right? That doesn’t mean it’s not a character flaw, but it says something about the character and how she treats and thinks of others. That her sympathy is genuine, but pushed onto people. That for all her empathy, she doesn’t always take the feelings of others into account.

This doesn’t make her an evil person. In fact, I think it’s clear that she’s painfully earnest, that she means very well, that her flaws are born out of sincerity and not malice. Contrast her ableist moments against Foreman’s refusal to treat poor people, his continued insistence that they ignore and discharge them. Or against Chase’s fatphobia, and the way he smiles to their faces and talks shit behind their backs. In comparison, at least Cameron appears to be trying for compassion.

I think Cameron makes mistakes. There are times she acts selfishly, or treats people poorly, or is hypocritical. I like her much more that way. One of my favorite things about her, actually, is that time and time again she’s made the butt of metatexual jokes: whenever she identifies with a patient, whether from Fidelity to The Itch, she’s shown to be wrong. She never helps. Her optimism always backfires, her hopes for a better and kinder world never pan out. The show practically laughs in her face. The lesbians are toxic. The homeless man dies in front of her. The first married couple breaks up; in the second one, the wife is poisoning her husband. The nice girl from the clinic is gonna die of lung cancer. Cameron never gets a win. She never gets to be right. And yet she never stops trying. She never gives in to easy cynicism. As much as I hate she was written off the show, she was able to draw a line and get out of a toxic situation and that’s awesome. Cameron fucks up. She’s stubborn and controlling and repressed and empathic and, yes, maybe a little ableist. But she tries and has standards and holds herself to them, and that’s very cool. I think she’s great. Even admirable. If she was perfect and composed and right and nice all the time, she’d be boring. She’s a mess and I love her for it.

[ggjunkie]

Heavenly Hazards

Chapter 6

“You gonna eat that?”

With a mouthful of unchewed food, Adam gestures toward your plate, his eyes fixed expectantly on your meal. The burger you ordered, despite its undoubtedly delicious flavor, lies largely untouched as you've found yourself lacking the appetite to indulge fully. Instead, you spend the time absentmindedly rearranging the fries on your plate, the clinking of your fork against your plate filling the brief silence between bites.

You hesitate, a fleeting expression of annoyance crossing your features. With a half-hearted glare, you shake your head in response before pushing the plate toward him. Already having devoured his own meal and now contentedly nibbling on the complimentary bread, Adam wastes no time in inhaling your meal. While you understand his large appetite, specifically after an energy-draining performance like the one he just delivered, you can help but feel unimpressed with his date-night manners. Or whatever you can call this.

"So," Adam begins, his words punctuated by a loud smack as he takes another bite. "Did you enjoy the concert?"

His question is predictable, dripping with a self-serving undertone that does little to disguise his own ego's thirst for validation. It still stings that this is the first question he asks and it's about him.

"It was... certainly loud," you reply nonchalantly, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of your praise.

Adam chuckles, clearly amused by your attempt at evading his question. "Oh, don't be coy, bitch" he retorts. "I saw you headbanging along. Surprised I didn't hear the rattle of your tiny ass brain."

You suppress a sigh, thinning your lips in annoyance as he cackles at his own joke.

"Seriously though, did you like it?" he presses, his tone shifting to a more earnest curiosity.

"Yeah, you did good, I guess," you concede, not wanting to feed his ego any further.

At your admission, Adam's demeanor undergoes a sudden transformation, his excitement bubbling to the surface like a switch being flipped. "Yeah? You had fun? You better have, since I gave you a free ticket and all. Don't expect that to happen again, slut. Unless you rock my world tonight. In which case, feel free to take a VIP pass"

Ignoring his rambling, you redirect the conversation to a topic that's been nagging at the back of your mind. "Yeah, which reminds me. Why did you give me a ticket in the first place?"

"Saw you talking to Saint Peter. You're real pretty," Adam confesses, a hint of sincerity softening his typically brash demeanor. Despite your frustration, a blush creeps across your cheeks at the unexpected compliment.

"And you’ve got a nice rack” There it is… “So I slipped you a ticket. Don't think I forgot you skipped out on the first one, though. I'm still mad about that. I had to track you down to give you a second. Good thing I peeped through your file. You can totally make it up to me tonight though," he adds, his tone playful yet tinged with a hint of expectation.

"Okay, stop. You're being gross," you retort, attempting to brush off his suggestive remarks.

"No need to be a virgin-slut. Some bitches would kill to be watching me eat," Adam remarks casually, oblivious to your discomfort. "Which, by the way, why aren’t you eating? Trying to waste my money, you bitch?"

"No, I'm sorry, I just..." you start, searching for a plausible excuse. "I just didn't like the food."

"Why didn't you say so? I can buy you whatever. Pasta? Lobster?" Adam offers.

"Lobster?" you cringe, taken aback by the extravagance. "Isn't that too expensive?"

"I can buy whatever. I could buy this whole restaurant and force them to make you your favorite food," he boasts, taking a large bite of your burger before continuing, "Do you want that?"

"No, I'm just not hungry," you reply, growing increasingly exasperated with the conversation.

"Ah, now I'm starting to get it. Someone's nervous," Adam teases, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

At this point, irritation prickles beneath your skin, fueled by Adam's relentless ability to push your buttons. "Okay, and so what if I am?" you retort sharply, your frustration evident in your tone. "You're apparently some big hotshot who's trying to get into my pants."

For a rare moment, Adam falls uncharacteristically silent.. Then, bouncing back, he responds, "...is it working?"

Your groan echoes loudly in the space, a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. Fortunately, the perfectly-timed arrival of the waiter to refill your drinks provides a welcomed distraction. Adam, ever the not-so-subtle opportunist, coughs loudly and gestures toward the waiter, silently urging you to consider ordering something else.

But you're not about to let Adam have the upper hand in this game.

"Excuse me," you announce firmly, flashing a wide grin as you catch Adam's waiting stare, "I think we're ready for our check." The waiter nods briskly and hurries off, leaving the two of you alone once more. As you steal a glance at Adam, his expression mirrors that of a triumphant cat who's just snagged a canary.

"Didn't know you were that ready for dessert," he quips, a smug smirk playing at his lips.

“Oh shut up!”

“Well, only if you—" Adam begins, but his sentence is abruptly interrupted by a wide yawn, his mouth full of food on display. "Man, I think eating so much has gotten me tired. We might have to postpone, babe. Maybe that'll even get you going—having to work for it," he chuckles, his tone teasing but sincere. He yawns again, eyes watering at the sensation. "Seriously though, we gotta call a rain check. I have a fat nap waiting for me."

Before you can respond, he continues, "But before you go, I figured we’d need to keep in touch."

With a flourish of his hand, Adam's fingers dance through the air with a grace that seems almost impossible for him. In a moment of astonishment, you watch as his movements conjure forth what appears to be a scroll, materializing out of thin air before your very eyes. The parchment unfurls in an elegant display, revealing intricate markings that shimmer with an ethereal glow.

But as your gaze lingers on the scroll, a strange realization dawns upon you—it's not a relic from ancient times, but rather… a phone?

Your jaw nearly hits the floor in shock as Adam casually enters his contact information. He hands it over, making sure his hand purposefully grazes over yours. You find yourself utterly flabbergasted by the realization that he has just gifted you a free phone.

“What the fu–”

"Welp!" Adam exclaims. With another dramatic flourish of his hand, a portal bursts open before you, crackling with wild golden sparks that dance in the air. "See ya!" he calls out cheerfully, giving you a playful shove toward the swirling vortex.

Before you can even protest or fully comprehend what's happening, you're hurtling through the portal, the world around you blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations. The rush of wind whips past you, and for a heart-stopping moment, you feel weightless, untethered to reality. It’s the same sort of adrenaline you get when you spread your wings and soar, except this makes you feel like you’re going to hurl.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, the chaos subsides, and you find yourself standing on your front porch, the familiar sights and sounds of home greeting you like an old friend. The portal vanishes behind you, leaving nothing but an upset stomach in its wake.

You take a moment to catch your breath, your heart still pounding from the unexpected journey. Glancing back at the spot where the portal once stood, you can't help but shake your head in amazement.

Thoughtlessly and still reeling from the whirlwind encounter with Adam, you go through the motions of heading inside and preparing for bed. Each step feels almost robotic, your mind still processing the surreal events of the evening as if in a haze.

Finally settled beneath the covers, you find yourself lying in bed, staring up at the dark expanse of the ceiling above. The events of the night replay in your mind like a vivid dream, a realization barrelling to the front of your mind with startling clarity.

You had fun.

Without conscious thought, your hand drifts to the bedside table, fingers curling around the sleek device Adam had gifted you. With a hesitant breath, you pull out the phone, its screen illuminating the dimly lit room with a soft glow.

For a moment, you hesitate, uncertainty gnawing at the edges of your resolve. But then, with a resigned sigh, you unlock the device and begin to scroll through your contacts, your mind buzzing with questions and possibilities.

YOU:

I’m free next weekend

ADAM:

Fuck yeah, bitch

Cum to my concert Saturday and I’ll get u another ticket

We can go out afterwards

Ur treat lol

Jk still mine u broke bitch

YOU:

It's a date

As you wait in silence, your heart flutters with anticipation, your eyes fixed on the screen as you watch the three familiar dots appear and disappear, teasing you with the promise of a response. But as moments stretch into minutes, you begin to feel a sinking sensation in the pit of your stomach.

The dots vanish completely, leaving the screen blank and devoid of any reply. A heavy silence lowers upon the room, punctuated only by the soft hum of the phone in your hand.

You wait a little longer, hoping against hope for some sign of life from the other end. But as the minutes tick by, it becomes painfully clear that no response is coming.

With a sigh of disappointment, you set the phone aside, resigning yourself to the quiet solitude of the night. As you drift off to sleep, your mind still filled with unanswered questions, you can't help but wonder what tomorrow will bring—and whether Adam will be a part of it.

[blackjackkent]

Shoutout to @amazonprimebox for letting me know that there is a CLOTHING BOX IN CAMP filled with every outfit and dye in the game! So we can put Hector back in his proper party clothes. <3

Thanks for providing that, Withers. Even the Lord of the End of Everything understands the importance of FASHION.

Look at how handsome this man is; it's not fair.

Anyway, Astarion next! And looking quite alive and unsinged; guess he got out of the sun fast enough.

"Well, look who decided to turn up!" he says brightly, as cheerfully sardonic as ever. "I wasn't sure our withered old friend could live up to his promise, but here we are. And look at you - straight from the Hells, still reeking of brimstone." He grins conspiratorially at Hector. "I take it you're having fun."

Hector grins crookedly. 'Fun' isn't always the word he would use - although sometimes it is, when they're able to step away from battle for a time. "It's been tough," he admits. "But at least I'm there with Karlach."

"Yes!" Astarion says brightly, leaning towards him. "The right person can make just about anything bearable. And it seems like you found exactly the right person." He pokes Hector gently in the chest.

Hector raises an eyebrow at him, amused. "You're in a good mood. Have you been drinking?"

Astarion scoffs. "Cheeky. I've been very well-behaved, thank you." He spreads his arms dramatically. "I've taken a turn as an adventurer and hero." He grins conspiratorially at Hector. "It turns out no one actually cares about murder, as long as you murder the right people. And apparently I'm rather good at it."

Hector remembers the party with the tieflings so long ago - Astarion's utter disgust at being hailed as a rescuer and hero. The vampire would never admit it but he has come a long way. Hector is too wise to tease him about it, but it is tempting, very tempting. "I could have told you that," he says instead, mildly, not making any attempt to hide the pride in his expression.

Astarion clicks his tongue. "Yes, but you say all sorts of things," he says airily. "Honestly, I don't even listen half the time." But he looks pleased, in spite of himself, shifts his weight a little side to side with muted energy.

"It made for a nice change, though," he goes on. "Inspiring hope in people instead of terror." A pause; then he laughs. "Well, I do try to inspire a *little* terror. I'm still me, after all."

Hector chuckles. He thinks - though Astarion would never say this either - that he can take some credit for his friend finding fulfillment in this new path, and he feels more than a little gratified about it. But he knows Astarion wouldn't appreciate the sentimentality, so he just tilts his head teasingly.

"You seem happy. Are you sure you haven't been drinking blood?"

"No," Astarion says, with a flash of that uncharacteristic earnestness that he has shown from time to time. "This is all me, I swear." A pause; he huffs out a sigh and shrugs. "Don't get me wrong - I was a mess at first. Every day I yearned for the sun and mourned my curse to live in the shadows. But in time... I realized that darkness is as much a part of me as my fangs. This is only a curse as long as I refuse to embrace the shadows. So I decided I would."

He narrows his eyes with a determined, resolute air. "I decided not to be defined by the choices other people made - by what other people did to me. My past may be done, but my present - my future - they're mine."

Hector's smile fades and he nods back just as seriously. It's rare that Astarion speaks to him without the mask, and he will not give him less than a sober response. "I'm glad to hear it," he says softly. "Acceptance looks good on you."

Astarion's eyes brighten and he gives perhaps the most sincere smile Hector has ever seen from him - a sentimental, grateful expression that slips like water across his face and then disappears as the mask slips back into place. "That being said," he goes on casually. "I haven't completely given up on returning to the sun. If the opportunity presented itself, well... I wouldn't say no."

He looks Hector up and down thoughtfully, then chuckles. "We have had quite the journey, you and I. From the moment I first threatened you, I knew you were someone special - someone to take on the world with."

The mask slips again and, astonishingly, he reaches out to touch Hector's arm - very briefly, a light contact before withdrawing. "I will miss our time together. But then again... maybe this isn't goodbye, so much as it's..."

He trails off, and then the old wicked playfulness sparks in his eyes.

"See you later, darling."

[dc-and-arfrona]

Playing Him (2/2)

Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Part 2 of: Playing Him Too?

Masterlist

The streets of Gotham were enveloped in darkness as shadows danced among the flickering streetlights. It was in this unforgiving night that fate wove its intricate tapestry, bringing them together once more. Jason, injured and in need of help, found himself stumbling upon the reader's doorstep.

With a pained groan, he leaned against the doorway, clutching his side. His body was battered, his spirit weary, and his heart weighed down by the ghosts of their past encounter. Little did he know that destiny had a twisted sense of irony, leading him back to the very person who had once shattered his trust.

The door creaked open, and there stood the reader, their eyes widening with a mix of surprise and concern. The sight of Jason, wounded and vulnerable, tugged at their heartstrings, eroding the barriers they had built to protect themselves.

Without hesitation, the reader stepped forward, their voice filled with a desperate plea. "Please, let me help you," they implored, their words laced with a newfound sincerity. "I know I've made mistakes, but I can't bear to see you like this."

Jason's gaze met theirs, his eyes reflecting the pain etched deep within his soul. A war raged within him—between the memories of their bitter parting and the lingering love that refused to fade away. Slowly, he nodded, his defenses crumbling in the face of their genuine concern.

As they guided him inside, a fragile silence settled between them, pregnant with unspoken emotions. The reader's hands trembled as they tended to his wounds, each touch a mixture of tenderness and regret. With each careful movement, they hoped to convey the depth of their remorse and the earnest desire to make amends.

Jason winced as their fingertips grazed his injured side, but his gaze never wavered from theirs. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, a flicker of longing that mirrored their own. In that moment, the truth became clear—their connection was not forged from mere games and deceit, but from a love that had weathered storms and survived despite the odds.

"I thought I could walk away from you," the reader whispered, their voice laced with regret. "But the truth is, you're the one who holds my heart, even in the darkest corners of my mind."

Jason's features softened, the walls around his heart showing cracks as he allowed their words to sink in. "I've carried the weight of your absence," he confessed, his voice raw with emotion. "In this godforsaken world, you were the only light that mattered. And I was wrong to label you as the worst of them all."

Tears welled in the reader's eyes, their voice choked with emotion. "I'm sorry for the pain I've caused," they pleaded, their voice filled with an urgency born from the fear of losing what they held most dear. "Please, give me a chance to prove that my love for you is real."

For a fleeting moment, time stood still—a suspended breath between them, hanging in the air like fragile hope. And then, with a mixture of hesitation and determination, Jason reached out, his hand cupping their cheek.

"I don't know if I can mend what's broken," he admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "But if you're willing to fight alongside me, to rebuild what we once had, then maybe... just maybe, we can find our way back to each other."

In that moment, the reader's heart soared, their own hand finding solace in his touch. A flicker of hope ignited within them, a beacon of light amidst the darkness that threatened to consume them both.

They had made mistakes, their love had been tarnished, but perhaps in the ashes of their shattered trust, they could find the strength to rebuild, to rewrite their story with authenticity and a renewed sense of devotion.

As they stood there, their hands intertwined, they knew that the road ahead would not be easy. But together, they were ready to face the challenges, to confront their demons, and to fight for the love that had always burned bright beneath the surface.

In the depths of Gotham's night, where shadows danced and wounds healed, they vowed to embark on a journey of healing, forgiveness, and the relentless pursuit of a love that refused to be shattered.

[morganaseren]

“don’t smile at me like that !”

((So this was a prompt off this list. I believed you requested this for Niamh and Morrigan. I had to rework prompt sentence a bit, but let me spoil you with a scene from Niamh's Warden AU. )) It was a calm morning.

Morrigan could admit there had been remarkably more of those ever since Niamh had joined her within the Eluvian. At the time, she had thought it a moment of weakness for giving into the other woman's request. By all logic, she should have refused it just as she had the first time following the aftermath of the ritual.

Yet, here Niamh was all the same.

Morrigan could hear her at the campfire, preparing the afternoon meal while she herself could indulge in some light reading now that Kieran had settled down for a nap. Curled protectively next to him was Bain---Niamh's adolescent warhound. Both were laid out on a pile of warm furs---a bounty that had been caught and expertly-skinned by Niamh herself.

While there was no prey to be found in this mysterious realm, ever present were the myriad of other Eluvians, which led to other parts of Thedas. Some were dim or shattered, of course, but there were others that fluctuated with endless energy. Through their time together here, Niamh could now travel through them just as deftly. It was necessary for one of them to leave this place in order to replenish their supplies, and more often than not, it was Niamh who took such a role.

While Morrigan hardly considered herself a helpless damsel of any kind, Niamh simply sought to provide for both her and Kieran however and whenever she could. Even so, she never forced her aid; it would have earned Morrigan's ire more easily otherwise. If anything, Niamh merely adapted to Morrigan's needs in that quiet, seamless way of hers.

And another pair of hands and eyes were... appreciated.

Morrigan was still recovering from the birth of their son after all, and with it came all the pains and aches of such labor.

As such, she was no longer startled from sleep by the sound of infantile wailing, and tension never filled her body whenever she wandered back into Thedas with Kieran in her arms.

Niamh was always at her side now after all.

The other woman would softly encourage her to continue resting as she rose from their bedrolls to tend to Kieran, and she'd offer a calm, comforting presence on the occasions they had to leave the safety of the Eluvian realm. For the Wardens' prime role in stopping the Blight, none would dare accost the woman widely-recognized as Ferelden's Constable of the Grey.

And as infuriatingly as always, Niamh had wanted nothing in return for such acts of kindness---not even at Morrigan's own insistence, material or otherwise. The other mage had simply desired nothing from the world that would have adorned her with all the privilege that both her title and status would have earned her.

Just as she had when they'd first reunited after nearly a year apart from one another, Niamh had wanted only to remain at her side.

"In whatever way you will have me," she had said in that quiet, earnest way of hers, sincerity bleeding through the misty-grey hue of her eyes.

Morrigan was not blind to Niamh's love and affection for her.

...nor was she blind to her own feelings in regards to the other woman.

But she wasn't ignorant of the respective paths they had to walk.

With the Old God Soul resting within Kieran, Morrigan would eventually have to guide him toward his destiny while Niamh's duties to the Grey Wardens would inevitably lead her away from them.

It was the idea of such impermanence that unsettled her more than anything else.

If anything, Niamh had long proven her loyalty to Morrigan then and now, and perhaps it was true that far better souls could love a heart so pure and devoted.

...but they'd have to fight their way through her first, Morrigan thought darkly.

"You've been engrossed with that tome for the last candlemark. Did you manage to find something?" a soft-spoken voice asked.

Morrigan blinked then, coming out of her thoughts to see that Niamh had wandered over to her side without her notice. A hand-carved mug of tea---if the aroma wafting from the vessel was any indication---was held between her palms as pale eyes regarded her in question.

"No," she admitted with some reluctance. "'Tis the act that soothes me as much as any discovery." That, and even Morrigan could admit that finding any evidence that could purge the tainted blood from Niamh's veins was a distant hope at best.

But Morrigan had to have something to offer the woman who had already given up so much of her life to others. Her pride wouldn't allow otherwise.

Still, Niamh only hummed understandably. "I'm in no hurry," she reassured. "I thought you might at least enjoy some tea during your research."

Morrigan murmured her thanks as she blindly took the mug from the other woman's hands, never taking her eyes off the pages before her. When she felt the soft press of lips against her temple, however, she nearly dropped the vessel entirely.

"I'll bring your meal over when it's ready," Niamh said simply as she straightened in place before wandering back over to the campfire, unaware of the state that she had left Morrigan in.

It was only when she realized that she'd been trying to reread the same sentence for the last several minutes that Morrigan slowly came out of her haze. When she did, she realized that Bain had picked his head off his paws and was looking at her. The mabari's tongue was lolling out of his mouth, seeming utterly pleased with the situation.

Morrigan scowled. "Cease that at once. 'Tis nothing to smile over."

[crunchy-nitrogen]

1813 | General Hux x OFC | Regency AU | Chapter 10

Pairing: General Hux x OFC, some Kylo Ren x OFC

Warnings: None

Masterlist

Read it on AO3

Next Chapter ->

______________________________________________________________

"You cannot be serious, cousin."

"I am completely serious."

"No, you jest."

"Do I ever jest?"

"Yes! Quite a lot actually!"

"Well... you have me there. But I have never been more serious in my life! The last county fair, I swear it - the man was practically flying." 

"Mitaka, acrobats to not fly."

"But this one did, Kit!"

"Well, I doubt they will today. The papers said there were to be 'light entertainment and stalls of interest'. I do not consider that 'light entertainment'."

It was a rare day within the 22nd Regiment, in which many of the officers and nurses had been granted leave from their posts. And quite coincidentally, the Corellian county fair had fallen on the same day. Consequently, the road from the military camp was paved with young officers itching for a decent drink and looking to woo any of the young ladies of the town. Many had tried their efforts on the nurses, but had been met with swift refusal. 

However, some had been lucky.

"Is that more talk of acrobats I hear?" Rey called from behind them, arm linked with Finn's as they strolled towards the fair. It had been several weeks since his injury, yet he had healed quickly under Rey's care. Aided also by her frequent attentions. 

"Is it ever. He seems convinced they have acquired the skill of flight!" Kit called over her shoulder, turning now to face a grinning Mitaka. 

"No - he's onto something. I was there last time. The way they leapt! It was unnatural..." trailed off Finn, leaving Rey in a bout of laughter. 

Passing under an old stone bridge, the four continued on their journey while indulging in Mitaka's humorous tales. As the talk died down and Rey began a whispered conversation with Finn, Kit saw this as her moment to ask something that had been on her mind. 

"Heard from Jayne lately?" she asked absentmindedly, trying not to give away her intentions. 

"Yes, actually. I received a letter just this morning." He could not hide his grin. "She tells me how drab life is now that the regiment has left. The dances are not half as fun, supposedly."

"Well, I am offended. I wrote to her over two weeks ago and have not yet received a reply. And when I do, it's short and always the same."

Her cousin grinned to himself, blushing like a debutante. His men would never believe that this was their fearless colonel. 

"I- I think she likes me."

Kit snorted. "Because she laughed at a few of your jokes?"

He was oddly silent for a moment. "You needn't be so harsh, Kit." 

Though his tone was light, she could still feel that her words had reached a sore spot. Kit sometimes forgot that those around her could be earnest, and that not everyone was putting on an act of austerity. Mitaka was one of the few people who Kit had found to be truly sincere in all aspects of his being, even when commanding his troops. Evidently, she had taken that for granted just now. 

Frowning at her own behaviour, Kit let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, Dopheld. It's not about you. It's just... I've known Jayne for her whole life, and I've seen the way she is. The way she is with... men. I just don't want you to get hurt."

Mitaka nodded. Though their pace had slowed significantly, they still remained out of earshot of the others. "You think I could do better?"

He had confirmed the obvious - that he had fallen for Jayne. Kit had remarked once before that they made a handsome couple, but when it was a possible reality, she was not so sure. Jayne's proclivity for flirtation was a stark contrast to Mitaka's gentle nature, and Kit could not imagine Jayne ever willingly submitting to being tied down. Additionally, she had never seen her sister complete a chore or duty besides dressing herself. How Mitaka could be so enraptured by her, Kit did not know. 

When she did not make to speak, Mitaka took this as confirmation. "Kit, I hope you don't mind me speaking plainly, but is this coming from jealousy? That she may have found a match but you have not?" 

The question took her completely off guard. To speak so openly about her true feelings made her feel awfully exposed. Vulnerable even. But he had asked it with such pure intentions, with no malice whatsoever. He was just genuinely curious and wishing to understand her better. With this acknowledgement, she decided to tell the truth. 

"It comes from a place of concern, not jealousy. But if you think you could love her, and she could love you, then I will not stand in your way," she conceded. Then continued, " Besides, it could not be jealousy, for I seem to have found my own... situation." 

The speed at which his head turned toward her could have broken records. 

"I beg your pardon? Did my cousin just say that she has found a match?"

"Keep your voice down, Dopheld - I do not want others to know. But, yes. I am... romantically involved." The words felt foreign on her tongue. 

"And who is the lucky officer? You know, technically these sorts of relationships are forbidden, so I may have to reprimand him," Mitaka replied while sporting a devious smile. 

"Which is precisely the reason he shall remain nameless and you shall not ask again." Kit seemed quite relieved to get that off her chest. At least he would stop pestering her about the topic. 

"Do not worry, your secret is safe with me." He elbowed her lightly. "On the condition that you give your blessing for me to court Jayne."

She let out a defeated laugh. "If you must - but please be warned, she is not an easy individual to live with."

"Oh, I shall delight in it."

She shook her head in disbelief. "I am going to pretend I didn't hear that. Let's get to this fair."

By the time the four of them arrived, much of the regiment had already found themselves crowding the small stage in the centre of the fair. 

"Come on, we're late!" exclaimed Rey, practically dragging Finn through the throng of townsfolk. 

"Best listen - I heard her scolding Matherson when he pulled a muscle wrestling yesterday. Wouldn't want to get on her bad side." Kit whispered to Mitaka, who then rapidly increased his pace out of fear. 

Through the flurry of people, Kit could make out a cacophony of sounds and smells completely foreign to her. The uptight righteousness of Arkanis rarely allowed for such fun activities as these, so she took it all in with wide eyes. As they drew closer to the acrobatics performance that was well underway, she spied a small seamstress' tent, selling a selection of needles, thread and knitwear. 

Since she had unpacked her belongings, Kit had been wondering what to do with the greatcoat at the bottom of her trunk. The actions of its owner this past week seemed to have made an impact on her, as she suddenly felt indebted to Hux - though he was merely doing his job. But she reminded herself that many officials would have denied her request, and still, he did not. 

She made a mental note to purchase a mending kit from the stall after the performance. It would be handy to have around anyway. 

Kit was brought out of her thoughts as they sidled up to another set of individuals. 

"Dopheld?"

"Oh! Commander, General - didn't expect to see you two here."

"You do not think us that dull, surely?" was the General's oddly easy-going reply. Dressed in a loosely buttoned shirt and having foregone his coat, he looked nearly civilian. It was a pleasant change.  

"You convinced us, Colonel, with all your talk of the last fair. We couldn't pass up the opportunity." Ren did not seem to drop the formalities or dress standards, however. He had replaced his black commander's uniform with a dark shirt and coat ensemble void of any rank - though it still signalled an air of authority. 

"I see he has talked your ear off about it as well?" Kit questioned. 

Hux looked away from the performance to give the hint of a smirk. "Let's just say they have a lot to live up to."

Ren watched their interaction with interest, unbeknownst to both parties. When Kit actually giggled after Hux's comments, a scowl was sent the General's way. 

As the performance continued on, members of the 22nd Regiment were dazzled by the skills of the performers. From flips and handsprings to leaps and twirls, the feats had all lead up to the finale. 

Taking their places on either side of the trapeze, the two acrobats held onto the horizontal bars and swung. With no ropes or safety nets to catch them, they swayed in tandem high above the crowd. 

"This is it! This is the trick!" Mitaka made known to all that would listen. 

After picking up some speed, the pair seemed to nod to one another, and both let go of the handles. Kit let out a gasp, and Mitaka looked on in wonder. Ren and Hux shared an equally concealed look of terror while Rey and Finn clung tightly to each other. 

For what seemed like years, the acrobats remained suspended in space. It was as if gravity did not exist, as they each performed three forward rotations before re-extending their limbs. The crowd audibly held their breath, watching to see if they would make it out alive. 

With only millimetres to spare, their hands connected with the bar and they resumed their normal movements of back and forth until they were upright at their starting positions. 

Likely begun by Mitaka, the crowd began to applaud and cheer while the performers took a bow. 

"I hate to admit it, but you were correct in your assumptions, Dopheld," Hux conceded. 

"I told you - didn't I?" he said with contented satisfaction. 

Those around him just laughed - quite delighted with the Colonel's enthusiasm. 

As the acrobats exited the stage, a small troupe of musicians took their place, ready to strike up a tune. 

"It's been an age since I've seen a band perform - we must stay!" exclaimed Rey. 

Kit was about to agree, until she noticed that Ren had departed their ranks. Searching for him in the crowd, she wondered where he had snuck off to - until she found him. At the very back of the crowd, he stood with his hands in his pockets. Seeming to notice her, he motioned his head for her to follow. How could she not?

"I may have to give it a miss - there are a few stalls I want to browse before they shut. Meet you back at the camp?" 

Rey nodded, already too engrossed in the music. The others paid her little mind. 

Slinking through the masses of people, she finally exited out the other end. Ren was on the move, striding quickly to the back of a particularly large stall, covered in various cloth and fabric. Here, they were thoroughly concealed.

"I thought we'd never escape."

"Oh? You had this planned?"

For the first time that day, Ren finally embraced her. Hugging her tight to his chest and kissing her forehead, he spoke without loosening his grip. 

"It may not be an evening, but I still intend to spend it with you."

"But won't the others see?"

He nearly scoffed at that. "They seem all too enraptured by whatever foolish performance inhabits the stage. We have plenty of time."

She grinned into his embrace. This would be the closest to courtship their relationship had ever been. "If you say so."

Grasping her hand, he whisked her away from behind the stall into the outskirts where the food and beverage stalls sat interlocked with the home goods vendors. Passing behind the lanes of proprietors, the smell of freshly baked breads and pastries filled her senses. 

She kept scanning the rows of people for anyone that would recognise her and the man beside her. Mitaka had said these relationships were not permitted - though Ren had never mentioned that explicitly. In their first letter, the Commander had expressed his desire to keep their relationship a secret - for her benefit. Yet if they were to continue and progress to an engagement - though Kit still could not fathom it - they would have to announce it eventually. Maybe she would ask about it another day when they weren't surrounded by such interesting sights.  

Passing back by the entry, Kit spied the seamstress' tent. 

"There is a sewing kit over at that stall I wish to purchase - if you just give me a moment."

"Please, allow me," he retorted, leading her over there himself. Handing over the coins to the lady, he took the small package from the table and gave it to Kit, feeling very proud of himself. 

It was his first gift to her. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent in similar domestic bliss; sampling foods and purchasing small trinkets. Ren even indulged in the purchase of a ruby necklace for Kit. And though the stone was small, she had never been one for flashy jewellery and could not have been more in love with it. 

By now, she assumed that most of the regiment had made their way back to camp, as the stage was visibly void of any performers. Everyone seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed themselves, she mused. Though none more than her, for she finally got to feel what is was like to be courted.

Walking hand in hand with the Commander, he seemed to spot something of interest at a small, wooden store. Lined across the table were ornate glasses of various liquids, each labelled with their specific infusion. From the strong smell wafting her way, she could tell they were alcoholic - and strong.

"Here, try one of these," he said, offering her the glass after handing over the coins. 

"Smells quite potent."

"Come on, it's a special occasion," he prompted. 

Under his gaze, she would not falter. Any hesitation she had died when he looked down at her, raising a brow as if to question her. 

In several large gulps, Kit drained the entirety of the glass' contents. Ren followed soon after, maintaining eye contact as he downed each drop. The taste was surprisingly good, she had to admit. Almost floral, but with deeper undertones. And she could not even taste the alcohol. 

"Up for another?"

Taking note of his challenging tone, she considered his request for a whole millisecond before nodding her agreement. The vendor poured two more of the same concoction into their glasses then slid Ren's coin off the counter into his pouch. 

Without needing his encouragement, she gulped it down with the same vigour as before, slamming the glass down upon her completion. 

"Just as good the second time?"

"Even better," she asserted. That seemed to please him, and he was about to make a further comment before he was interrupted. 

"Commander, there you are. Snoke's envoy has arrived in the town and seeks an audience." This was an officer that Kit had never seen before, but nevertheless she immediately hid her face away and hoped that he had not noticed they were drinking together. 

Ren was fuming. Though he kept his voice low, she could still feel the anger and power behind his words. "Send  him to Hux."

"Sir, the envoy said Snoke requested you and you only," the officer trembled. 

Ren let out an exasperated sigh as he slammed his glass onto the table, very nearly shattering it. 

"This had better be worth my time."

Watching as the officer scampered away towards the township, Kit looked to Ren sadly. Their day had come to an end, as she knew it must. But it did not make it any less bittersweet. 

"Blasted officer. I had intended to walk you back. Slowly - savouring our time. Maybe find a tree to push you up against," he finished with a whisper. 

"There will be time for that another day. Now go - and don't be too harsh on him. He's just the messenger." Kit smoothed down the front of his shirt and gave a quick kiss to his jaw before releasing him. 

"I can't make any promises," he said before following the officer. 

With nothing keeping her at the fair, Kit set about on her journey back to camp. However, with each step she took, she felt her body growing warmer. It was gradual, like the slow build up of a wave, until it was crashing over her and turning her skin a light pink colour. 

With it, her head started to feel heavy. She had just made it to the path when she began to see double. 

Whatever had been in that drink must have had a delayed reaction on her body, and she wondered now how it had affected Ren. 

Ren; she really like Ren. He had kind eyes. And big hands.

Even her thoughts were being affected, it would appear. 

While she did not know it, her steps had grown sluggish and she had begun to wobble on her feet. In her stumbling, she had made it to the stony bridge they passed under that morning. 

"Now what do we have here?" came a voice from the shadows. 

"I'm sorry?" Kit asked, unsure of who she was speaking to. 

"Had a bit much to drink, girlie?" the voice continued, chuckling at the state of her. 

"Ah, no. No, only two - I think?" she tried to reason with herself, completely unaware of the way the man had begun to circle her. 

"Don't matter to me. Just means you'll scream less."

At this, he dove towards her, grabbing her arm. 

"No - let go. Let go!" She tried to thrash in his grasp, but it was useless. The drink had rendered her limbs weaker than ever and she was powerless to save herself. 

He was dragging her now, down towards the forested area beyond the path. She stared into the green abyss and silently prayed that it would be over swiftly. 

But suddenly her assailant stilled, and she heard the sound of a gun cocking. 

"Unless you wish to meet your demise, unhand her now."

Silently, the man wrenched his hand from her arm and stepped back. Kit had just turned to see the face of her saviour before she heard a startling crack as the attacker fell to the floor unconscious. 

Through her blurred vision, Kit could see General Hux sporting a pistol in one hand and clenching and unclenching his fist in the other. Red was dusting his knuckles, evidently from the punch he had just dealt the man. 

"Did he harm you?" came the strained question.

She shook her head, heart still racing from her near assault. 

"Well - good. But what were you doing alone? The others thought you had returned earlier." 

Though she could not quite make it out, she perceived that there was a true look of worry etched on his features. And he seemed to be panting quite hard. 

Taking a moment to assess her condition, he appeared to realise that something was wrong. 

"Are... are you drunk?"

"I do not know... Do I look drunk?" she asked innocently, completely oblivious. He knew something was definitely wrong, as Kit lacked all of her usual teasing. 

"Very much so." He looked into her eyes, noticing the dilation of the pupils and the flush of her cheeks. She was utterly defenceless and without control of her own body. "Though I fear the hangover tomorrow will be far worse."

"Oh."

As the rest of their party had returned to camp by now, Hux could not leave her to even procure a horse for her. Consequently, it was up to him to escort her on foot. 

"Can you walk?"

"A little."

"That will have to do for now. You can lean on me, if you require it."

"I should be fine." 

Kit had not taken even two steps in the direction home before nearly collapsing - saved only by Hux's agile grasp. 

"Place your arm over my shoulder and I shall support you from the waist."

Without complaint this time, she did as she was told and instantly felt more stable. 

They settled into a slow but effective pace, with Hux doing much of the work and Kit drifting in and out of awareness. After the first minutes of silence, Kit's intoxicated brain thought it the perfect time for some conversation. 

"Thank you for punching that man."

"I am a soldier, it is only my duty."

She crinkled her nose. "But it was still very nice of you."

He seemed to nod his acceptance of her thanks. But then she had another thought. "Hmmm, but why were you so mean before? Back when we met at the ball."

He did not know what to say to that. 

"Called my sister ghastly. And you said I was a spinster."

Again, he could make no comment in his defence. 

"Why do you dislike me?"

That comment got him to talk. "I do not dislike you."

"Well that's news."

He sighed. "I apologise if I have led you to feel that way. Those comments were untrue and impolite. As far as Arkanisians go, I would consider you among the best."

"Aww, stop it."

"I admit, I judged you without knowing you. But you have been a pleasant surprise, Kit. I fear that you are growing on me."

"Like a mould?"

That earned a chuckle from him. "Like a mould."

Resigned to the fact that she would not remember any of this, Hux smiled to himself and continued on. 

"Now let's get you back to camp. You have a rough day ahead of you tomorrow... and I will have some explaining to do."